


A deal to save the world, again

by quigui



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Leviathans, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quigui/pseuds/quigui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley wants the Leviathans gone, but needs a little push to help the Wichesters</p>
<p>Set between 7x08 and 7x22, with mentions of stuff that happens at the beginning of season 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A deal to save the world, again

**Author's Note:**

> This started with 2 tumblr posts ([this](http://itisnotofimport.tumblr.com/post/45186397847/i-want-an-episode-of-supernatural-that-starts-with%5D) and [this](http://quigui.tumblr.com/post/46594887174/finepieceofcas-the-one-scene-in-supernatural)) which evolved into plot bunnies big enough to make me sit down and write. I tried to get some Good Omens elements into the fic. I set the story on season 7 because season 8 wasn't finished then and I didn't want to bring my jumble of theories into this. Also, knowing what happens next helps a lot plot-wise. 
> 
> Also, first fic ever, and unbeta-ed.

The line in hell extended endlessly. Round and round it went, and dead smack in the middle of it, Crowley’s office. Not his favorite place, hell's demons are somewhat unfamiliar with the concept of privacy, but Crowley was a strong believer in maintaining office hours and he had to admit the view from there was amazing: the queue of hell was a thing of beauty, in all its Echeresque splendor.

He had his crossroads reports to make sure there were no more rogue demons thinking they had rediscovered the wheel. Just some light reading to distract him from the Leviathan business, which was never very far from his mind anyway, and a fine scotch. He had his dark wood furniture, his comfy armchair, and his lovely rugs. He could work in style. He could even manage to ignore the bright red phone in the pedestal by the corner.

It started as joke. Those moronic imbeciles that he had on Winchester duty were apparently ignorant of the mere notion of sarcasm, which could explain why they were doing a piss poor job of finding them and killing them for good. They even failed to tell him when demons were getting killed left and right. Which lead to Crowley shouting: “What more do you need!? A special red Winchester phone that rings every time the brothers so much as fart!?”

Sure enough the next day there was a red phone in the office. It only rang when it was Winchester-related news. Crowley resisted it at first, but hell is hell for everyone and the damned thing kept appearing there, no matter how creative he was in destroying it. So he embraced the whole idea, and even decorated it with some moose stickers to remind him of the Winchesters, well, at least Sam.

It had been silent for a while now. They seemed to have gone off the radar and Crowley was getting antsy. Silence on their part was never a good thing, and they were supposed to be vanquishing those bloody pests that roamed the earth. As if a response to his thoughts, the telephone rings. There is even a flashing red light that goes so well with the shrill tone. Crowley uses his super teleportation skills just to get there faster and not have to endure it any longer than necessary. He picks it up as fast as he can.

“The boys are in town.” says the voice on the other end of the line, before hanging up.

 

* * *

 

The Bentley is a nice a touch, but the only reason he has to drive a car is because of the no-demon-zapping zone that is totally uncalled for. At least he knows there is a no-angel restriction as well. If Crowley had to tell where the car had come from, he really couldn’t say, though he has his suspicions. One day it was just there, in his garage. He was relieved it wasn’t some kind of vintage edition, because nothing could scream more of British snobbery than riding through all-American-town in a 1920s car. Unless it was a Model T, then it would just be snobbery.

It was the right car to drive to meet his informant, since he was almost sure it had been him that kindly offered the ride. The constant Queen on the radio, no matter what tape he put in, was another clue.

Crowley parks the car in front of the bookshop, and gets out, thankful for no more _Bicycle Race_. He was starting to sing-along. He saunters towards the bookshop, pretending he is just looking, and _oh, there is a nice book on the window, I might get in_ , while taking a look at who is around. No Winchesters in sight, no Leviathans, and no angels either. Well, besides the one inside.

The shop doorbell rings as he enters, and the head behind the counter lifts.

“Hello Angel. I would like two Winchesters,” Crowley says with a grin.

“Dearest Crowley, you know I don’t keep them in stock.” A matching smile spreads across the angel lips, and it just means trouble. Crowley knew this was a bad idea, but he doesn’t let his grin falter, and just plays along.

“But you know where I can find some, don’t you?” By then Crowley has already reached the counter, and just rests his elbow there, nonchalantly staring at the angel’s eyes. Any other person would just step back uncomfortably; Gabriel just mimics the pose and bats his eyelashes at him.

He is quiet, still smirking, a look of _I-know-something-you-don’t_ on his face. And then, pretending he just remembered something, Gabriel starts walking around the shop, strategically positioning himself between Crowley and the door. The only door. ”Ah, yes, the Winchesters. Somewhere in town, poking their noses at some kind of witch thing, I think. I don’t know; something boring. But, I really need to talk to you…”

“And you used the Winchesters to lure me in? You could have just asked.”

“You would have come? Just to talk with me? Aww, I’m touched.”

_Ah, sarcasm_ , Crowley thinks, _so few angels can get it right_. It reminded him of Lucifer, which would have been fun to watch if he had been a little more sympathetic towards demons. But he likes Gabriel, provided he is far away or dead, not so much when he is alive and kicking and right o«in his face. “You are probably right. You’re not worth the trouble. So, what is it that you want?” Crowley is starting to get irritated, and with all his exits blocked, he wants to get to the real matter as soon as possible.

“Talk,” Gabriel answers noncommittally. He browses through his own bookshop, stealing glances towards Crowley just to tell him that he is keeping an eye on him.

“So talk.”

Gabriel looks thoughtful for a minute. Another minute wasted, Crowley thinks. Another minute he won't get back. And the exit is still blocked.

“You are going to help the Winchesters,” Gabriel finally says.

“Oh, am I? How did you figure that one out?” Crowley snaps back.

“It is in your best interest to help them send creation 1.0 back to the hole where they came from.”

“And I’m giving them all the space they need in order to do just that. But the way things are going I might have to do some damage control and see if I can convince dicky Dick into a deal.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrows and looks at him like he is stupid. “They have no souls to bargain with.”

“There must be something they want. Everyone wants something. Always.”

“And they don’t need you to provide them with anything. They can just take it, you dumbhead.”

He has a point, Crowley thinks. He is not even sure if they liked the muffins or even ate them at all. “So, what do you suggest? I gather arms, grow a beard, start wearing plaid and join the Hunter team?” It’s a dreary image, and Crowley just shudders.  

“No need to be so dramatic. Although it might look good on you. But the boys will come to you for help. And you will help them.”

“What makes you so sure? Do you know... something?”

“Oh, Crowley boy, I know a lot of things. I know there is a way to kill those soulless leeches, because I know daddy put in a failsafe mechanism with every creation. And before you ask, no, I don't really know how to kill them. But if anyone can find it, it's the Winchesters, don't you say? Cause after all these years, they always manage to find a way to save the world. Except their bastard brother, of course.”

“And what if they don't find this magical way?”

“They will.” Crowley _humphs_ unconvinced, but Gabriel rolls his eyes and continues. “But I assume they will need some kind of spell, and it will probably have a disgusting list of ingredients. You will have no problem in acquiring them, I bet. That’s all I’m asking,”

“Grocery shopping for the Winchesters? That’s it? What’s in it for me?”

“Besides no more Leviathans?”

“Besides that, which I admit is good.”

“You get to live. You get to go back to your cave without me alerting the boys. You get to keep the car. By the way, did you like it? And if you are a good boy, a really good boy, I may share some heavenly secrets with you.”

Crowley is suddenly more interested. Heavenly secrets could be good, provided there is going to be an after-Leviathan time to use them. “What kind of secrets?”

“Potential dropouts, past dropouts, dropouts that are still on Earth… You know, that sort of thing.”

“So, let me get this clear, you are selling whoever has fallen, and whoever is likely to fall? To me? For grocery shopping!?”

“Only if it works. Delivery upon total demise of the Leviathans. And, no, I’m not giving you all. I don’t know all, for starters. But you’ll get your fair share.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m an angel.”

Crowley laughs, a solid, heartfelt laugh because that’s the best joke he heard in a while. “Oh, Gabriel, that may convince your most devout followers, but I’m not stupid. We get this in writing. A proper deal. And no loopholes. I’ll be checking.”

“Fine,” Gabriel says, looking vexed. It’s all pretend, because it is quickly followed by a shit-eating grin. “You know, if you just wanted a kiss all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up, Gabriel, and get a pen.”

 

* * *

 

Deal writing takes time; it’s a bargaining exercise even when the terms seem clear enough during talks. Gabriel is reading the final draft, after hours of heated discussion and much ribbing. Crowley waits in silence. They have moved to the back room, which is more comfortable because at least there are chairs, and it’s thoroughly supplied with alcohol.

It was a surprise when he first learned that Gabriel was alive, doubly so when it was the angel the first to make contact. They had never had any dealings before, with him still being a crossroads demon and Gabriel under the disguise of Loki. But what Gabriel had suggested, a simple exchange of information, and keeping each other’s whereabouts secret, had suited him, so he agreed with no questions asked. But this had been going on long enough without anyone else finding out and his curiosity was gnawing him.

“So, how come you are alive? I thought your big brother had skewered you well.”

Gabriel lifts his eyes from the paper and is not amused. Crowley finally sees the archangel that is usually hidden under the trickster, and it’s chilling. Strike that, it’s terrifying. “Whoever likes Castiel seems to have some love for me as well. I don’t know. I was dead and then I was not. I’m thankful and don’t question it further.”

“Is that why you went into hiding?”

“Hiding is what I do best.”

“And why a bookstore? I would have figured a candy store more you.”

“More me, sure, more easily found me as well. It was for sale because almost no one buys books in this town, so it was perfect.”

Gabriel goes back to reading; Crowley goes back to waiting and staring. Minutes later they sign the deal, no kissing whatsoever, and Crowley goes back to hell.

 

* * *

 

When the summons comes, of course he says yes. He is bound to say yes. He may wiggle a bit on the rules, but he comes through. And so do the Winchesters.

But suddenly there is a game changing element in place. The tablets. Well, the tablets and the prophet. Demon tablets and who knows what else. He takes Kevin, but the kid proves to be smarter than he thought. And while sitting on his ass he remembers he has a favour to collect. Not that fallen angels will do him much good now.

He drives back to the bookstore, but finds it boarded up. In fact, he finds no magic whatsoever in place, so he zaps inside. No books left, just the shelves and the counter. And on the counter an envelope with his name on it.

Crowley opens it, and inside is a long list of names and locations, and a smaller one with just names. Angel names, he gathers. So Gabriel came through, but skipped town. A list of prophets would be more useful now, but at least he knew where he could start.

He leaves the car parked at the shop. “Goodbye Angel boy,” he says before he disappears.

 


End file.
